


Open Book

by AggressiveWhenStartled



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, BROT3, Banter, Bucky Barnes is not a sad woobie, Bucky Barnes was broken before the Russians got him, Established Relationship, He just hides it really well, I'M REWRITING IT ELSEWHERE THAT'S WHY IT'S UPDATED, IT'S A LINK TO THE NEW FIC, M/M, Memory Loss, OH NO I'M SORRY, PLEASE DON't GET INVESTED IN THIS ONE, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Tony Stark Has A Heart, abandoned, oh no, stop reading this, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-22 17:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2515682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AggressiveWhenStartled/pseuds/AggressiveWhenStartled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If you jump out of this plane without a parachute <i>one more time</i>, I don’t know what I'm gonna do, but you <i>will not like it</i>.” Bucky yanked, hard, on one of the straps holding the parachute on—Steve gave a soft grunt of complaint. Bucky shot him a look and jerked it harder.</p><p> </p><p>  <b>This work has been discontinued and has been completely rewritten as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/11699007/chapters/26341233">Closed Book</a>. This is not a sequel, prequel, or otherwise related. Read Closed Book with the confidence it will conclude, but this is an older version of it and will not. </b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Usually when I start writing in a new fandom, I rewatch/reread everything to be certain I have all details of character and story down pat. Usually I do not have a seven month old daughter. Needless to say, I didn't do that this time, so if you notice something wrong, please let me know! I love feedback that helps me improve my writing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH NO DON'T READ THIS
> 
> I STOPPED WRITING IT
> 
> I'M REWRITING IT AS [CLOSED BOOK](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11699007/chapters/26341233) PLEASE JUST GO READ THAT
> 
> I'M SO SORRY

Steve loved Bucky with a total, joyous, limitless adoration he knew Bucky sometimes didn’t know what to do with anymore. It left him stupid, reckless, careless, giddy—all things you should never be in dangerous situations, and he was almost always in dangerous situations. He couldn’t help it; Bucky was there, beside and behind and before him, perfect from the twist of his hips as he brought up his rifle to the grit of his teeth when he swung a punch. 

Steve loved Bucky soft-edged and quiet in Steve’s sweatpants curled up on their couch, but he also loved him bloody and streaked with dirt, direct and tough and sure. Everything was amazing, he was the happiest he’d been in seventy years, and nothing as trivial as broken bones or internal hemorrhaging was going to change that.

“If you jump out of this plane without a parachute _one more time_ , I don’t know what I’m gonna do, but you _will not like it_.” Bucky yanked, hard, on one of the straps holding the parachute on—Steve gave a soft grunt of complaint. Bucky shot him a look and jerked it harder.

“My count was higher last time,” Natasha called from the other side of the plane. Steve looked over Bucky’s head at her, grinning. “You planning on doing anything about that, big guy?”

Bucky looked decidedly unamused and poked him, hard, in the side.

“Planning on getting a head start on you,” Steve told her, ignoring Bucky when he knuckled him again in the ribs. Bucky was getting more annoyed, and it was getting harder to ignore, but he was resolute. “Ten bucks says I get there first.” 

“Not a chance,” Natasha countered. “You’re built like a wall. A wall on steroids.” She flipped the pistol she’d been clicking apart and back together during the flight and slid it in place on her hip, then gave him a once-over, glancing back up with a smirk. “Those aren’t exactly known for their dexterity.”

I’ll just have to up my game,” Steve assured her. Bucky fastened the last snap with a sharp _click_ and jerked harder on the strap than really necessary as the doors started to open. 

“Don’t get stupid,” Bucky muttered, only just audible over the wind, face close and hands lingering. Steve concentrated on looking innocent, widening his eyes in hurt surprise; Bucky was not fooled. He yanked again, forcing another strained _oof_ out of Steve. “Nothing. Stupid. I mean it this time.”Steve’s straps had been tightened enough now to hinder his breathing, a little, but he knew better than to complain.

“What could you possibly do in the next five minutes that would up your game enough to get in first?” Natasha shouted over the din. “It’s too late to bulk up on the protein and coffee at the senior citizens breakfast. You’re fucked. I’m going to win.”

Steve saluted her, popped the latches on the parachute back open to Bucky’s clear, horrified fury, and took a running leap to cannonball out the door with it hanging loose over his shoulder.

“You dumb fuck,” Bucky shouted as he dove frantically after him, “I’m gonna _kill_ you if they don’t, _you dumb fuck_.”

***

They didn’t kill him, but it wasn’t for lack of trying.

“ _Dammit Steve_ ,” Bucky snarled, rifle strap wrapped securely around one arm and 240 pounds of concussed supersoldier draped over the other. He ducked down behind a flipped Humvee and Steve bit back the nausea that swam up with the sudden movement. “I keep trying to take all the stupid with me, I swear I am, but you just _keep making more_.”

Steve tried to think through the thick soup filling his head for a smart remark and came up empty. “Sorry,” he slurred through a broken jaw and bloody nose. He felt around with his tongue to make sure everything was still there.

Nope.

Well, he was Captain America. Maybe it would grow back.

Bucky grit his teeth and pressed something into Steve’s palm before bouncing up to catch a grenade and lob it back where it came from. There was an explosion, a rush of hot air, and a lot of screams.

“I gotta keep up,” Steve managed eventually, getting in a few words every time Bucky ducked down next to him between bursts of machinegun fire. “Can’t let you pull ahead.”

“You leapt out of an airplane and right into a field of tanks, _I am not the one pulling ahead in the stupid_ , put your damn tooth back in.” 

Steve looked down and was surprised to find his back molar in his hand; Bucky had apparently scooped it up off the ground during the chaos. Steve dusted it off a bit, brightening.

“Oh hey,” Steve said, looking up. “Thanks.”

Bucky made a frustrated sound and kept shooting.

“I’ve lost visual on you two,” Natasha told them over the radio, voice clear as a bell. So were the screams of whomever she was kicking the stuffing out of; Stark had done good work on those. “Did Steve fall over? Just prop him up against something until you can find his walker, he’ll be fine. Be careful of the tennis balls on the legs, though.” Steve could hear her fierce grin as someone grunted close to the microphone. “It’s hard to find the pink ones.”

“I’m _two years older_ than he is,” Bucky shouted, hooking a shoulder under Steve again and jolting his cracked ribs in a sudden sprint. He dropped him behind a tank that had for unknown reasons stopped to aim a very big, slow gun and two comparatively small, quick targets, leapt atop the turret, and yanked the hatch off with his metal arm. Steve winced as the screech of the metal shot through his headache. “If you jackasses aren’t too busy with your stupid tallies, could someone please,” he paused as he opened fire into the tank, “come get Steve? The stupid jerk blew his damn legs up.”

“That wasn’t me,” Steve protested. “That was the grenades.”

“Oh,” Bucky grunted, reaching in and pulling the bodies out. “Right. Nevermind then. Not a problem after all.”

“On my way,” Tony told them, voice slightly tinny because he thought it made him sound cool. Sometimes Steve even admitted that it kind of did. “Don’t lose your dentures before I get there.”

Bucky made a sour face and heaved a particularly large body over the edge, then jumped down to lift Steve and drop him inside. Steve’s legs, which had been slowly regaining feeling, let their disapproval be known, and Steve bit his lip. “You know,” Bucky grunted, slithering in after him and pressing buttons, “the senior citizen jokes are really getting old.”

“Hah,” cackled Tony. “Old.”

Bucky glared into thin air. “You know I hate you, right? I’m going to shoot you one day. I can’t wait.” The tank started to roll forward, and Steve probably only imagined the bumps as they plowed over a few enemy soldiers. “Which one of you lunatics does Steve leave in charge when he’s concussed?”

“That would be Tony,” Clint told him.

Bucky cursed.

“But realistically, it’s Natasha, since Tony’s scared of her and does what she tells him.”

“Have you _seen_ how hard she hits?” Tony asked, defiant. “Of course I do what she tells me to.”

Steve squinted. It was weirdly well-lit in the tank—much more sunlight than these things usually had. He glanced up.

Oh.

“We don't have a lid on this tank anymore,” he realized, dazed. “I remember. You ripped it off.” He stared blearily up at the missing hatch, where two new soldiers had crawled up and were leveling their guns at him through it. “I think that might have been an oversight on your part.”

Bucky spun and shot both of the Hydra soldiers right between the eyes. Steve was impressed. “Shut it.” Bucky grimaced as the tank rocked slightly with a small explosion. “Dumbasses who wreck their knees leaping from an airplane don’t get to criticize.”

“I told you,” Steve protested, “I was fine after the jump. That was the grenades.” He smiled. “Thank you for jumping out after me.”

Bucky glanced back, lips pressed together in a flat line. “…you’re welcome.” Steve’s smile blossomed into a wide grin. “Shut up now, I have to concentrate.”

“You got it, pal,” Steve told him, and passed out.

***

Steve loved Bucky, and it was blindingly obvious that Bucky loved Steve.

Bucky loved Steve with a complete, terrified, frustrated devotion that Steve alternately basked in and worried over. Bucky would race after him in battle without hesitation, but rattle awkwardly around him in their too-big apartment when the crisis was over, unsure and self-conscious. Unable to leave but unclear on what he should do while he was there.

Bucky loved him desperately and absolutely and selflessly, but not happily. Steve generally spent his time trying to prove Bucky didn't need to worry about him, and instead proved every time that he did.

“Hey,” he managed as soon as he woke up again, squinting against the too-bright fluorescents. Bucky was curled over him, awake and watching, because of course he was. Steve knew he would be. “Don’t be mad. I took the parachute with me this time.”

Bucky remained silent, and Steve fidgeted in the quiet.

“It was really useful when I needed to brain someone with it?” Steve tried.

“Which of us is the bigger idiot,” Bucky asked him, leaning back in his chair, shoulders stiff and poised to hit something. “You, for risking your life doing something stupid, or me, for always being surprised?”

“Um,” Steve scratched the back of his neck, shamefaced. “I think I’m in trouble no matter how I answer that question.”

“What is it?” Bucky asked him, furious. “You keep swearing you don’t care about the Winter Soldier shit, which is ridiculous of you, but fine. What’s it for then? Is it for falling?” Bucky slumped, the fight suddenly gone right out of him. “Do you want me to know how it feels to watch? I promise, I know how it feels.” 

Steve felt his heart drop, hard, into his stomach, and bile rose in his throat. “No Bucky,” Steve managed, voice hoarse. “God, no, Bucky, of course not. I’m not—I would never—Oh god _Bucky_ , I’m so _sorry_ , I—“

“Hey guys,” Clint interrupted, startling them both. He was lying in the bed across the room, hooked up to several machines and trailing an assortment small tubes, an uncomfortable smile plastered across his face. “Uh. I’m in here too. Didn’t know if you realized.”

They both stared at him.

“But. Uh. I am. Here, I mean. And I can’t leave, cuz I have a lot of tubes attached and I’m on too many drugs to walk. So.” He drummed his fingers on the bed rail. “Just, so you know.”

Bucky gave up, kicked his chair back against the wall, and stalked out. Steve scrambled to follow.

“Don’t even think about getting out of that hospital bed,” Bucky ordered over his shoulder. “If you pull that IV out I’m putting it back in through your damn neck.”

Steve sank back into the pillows and felt like a total heel for a while.

“Hey,” Clint said eventually, “you wanna play painkiller darts?”

***

Shawarma.

Damn.

Shawarma.

Steve didn’t hate a lot of things, but jeez…he could make an exception for shawarma. He definitely hated shawarma.

In fact, as far as he could tell, _everyone_ hated shawarma. He watched Tony halfheartedly chew his way through a mouthful and wished he’d taken Clint up on painkiller darts, whatever that was. It was probably just darts while on painkillers. Maybe he would have been reinjured enough that he wouldn’t be stuck here, still feeling like a jerk about the plane. Maybe he would even be unconscious. That sounded nice. And as screwed up as he was, Clint was a pretty big train wreck himself—at least he would have company in the dumb ideas club back at the hospital, since Clint had gotten there by jumping off a building to get a good shot and had forgotten to plan on landing.

Painkiller darts would probably only make Bucky angrier and Steve would only feel worse, but on the plus side, he wouldn’t have to eat shawarma.

“Oh my God, rocket pop, please cheer up or _I’m_ going to need antidepressants. You have your own floating raincloud going on here, and it’s getting on me.” 

It took Steve a moment to realize Tony was talking to him. “Sorry?” Steve tried to replay the conversation in his head up to that point. “What?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Are you in trouble with grandma? Is that why he’s not here? I’ve made it through the whole evening without getting death glares and threats of dismemberment, it’s amazing, you should get in trouble more often.”

Steve frowned. “Are you talking about Bucky?”

“Shut up, Stark.” Natasha said, not looking up.

Steve stood. “I’m not actually here for the shawarma, Tony, but I’m definitely not here to listen to you insult—“

“ _Literally_ the last thing Red said to me was ‘I hate you and I want to shoot you in the face’.” Tony interrupted, balancing his chair back on two legs. “I think I’m entitled to enjoy some time away from him. Hey! You are, too—when he’s not giving me that dead-eyed stare, I’m feeling miserable on your behalf as you watch him like a sad--”

Natasha kicked Tony’s chair and he flailed to keep upright.

“What? I’m just saying, Red’s a—“

“The star’s white now,” said Bucky, appearing behind them. Natasha either had heard him coming or was better at hiding surprise than Steve was at reading it, but everyone else jumped a little. Tony jerked so violently he lost his just-regained balance and tipped completely onto the floor, his angry yelp followed by a stream of creative vitriol that Steve only half understood. Bucky ignored him, swiped his shawarma, and swung his feet up on the table. 

Steve couldn’t help but be disapprovingly impressed with his style. 

“I haven’t worked for Russia in decades,” Bucky continued, “so calling me Red doesn’t make much sense. Or did you mean the murder?”

“I meant the murder,” Tony told him, climbing back up and glaring.

“Ah.” Bucky paused between bites and looked thoughtful. “Yeah. Still do a lot of that.”

There was a brief silence where no one could think of anything to say.

“Bucky,” Steve managed, “Buck, it’s not the same--”

“It’s always the same, pal.” Bucky didn’t even look up. “Folks end up just as dead no matter which side I’m on.”

There was a longer silence where everyone _really_ didn’t know what to say.

Bucky finished Tony’s shawarma, the rest of the team awkwardly staring at their plates, then looked meaningfully at Steve’s. Steve rolled his eyes and passed it over, and Bucky polished that off, too.

“Get your boots off the table,” Natasha ordered Bucky after a while, when it became apparent Steve wasn’t going to. Bucky looked at her, then slowly lowered his feet to the ground and gave the table a dramatically careful pat. Natasha rolled her eyes. “Were you born in a barn? It’s like I’m the only one with any manners around here.” 

Steve raised an eyebrow at her, which she ignored. He turned to Bucky. “I can’t believe you like that stuff,” he offered, awed. “No one likes that stuff.”

“Still mad at you,” Bucky told him, and Steve tried not to look too tragic. He didn't think he managed very well from the sympathetic looks the rest of the table gave him, which just made him feel like a bigger jerk.

“See,” Tony said, pointing at him, “this shit is exactly what I’m talking about.”

Bucky kicked Tony’s chair completely out from under him and sent it skidding into another table, and Tony sat down hard on the tile. Bucky didn’t even lose any of the shawarma he’d stolen from Bruce when he did it.

Again, Steve was disapproving. But impressed.

“You’re an asshole,” Tony told Bucky from the floor. Bucky nodded absently, and Steve sent Natasha a helpless look. 

“Alright you two,” Natasha told them, taking pity on Steve. “No more talking, looking at, or touching one another. Lets just have a nice family meal where no one gets killed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tony said.

“Yes ma’am.” Bucky echoed.

“I know why _I_ listen to her,” Tony said, blatantly flouting his promise immediately, “but why do _you_?”

“Shit, of course I do,” Bucky said, raising his eyebrows. “Have you _seen_ how hard she hits?”

***

The problem with stopping was that it was so much _fun_ , Bucky nagging at him like he always had ( _Steve. Stevie. The guy is at least three times your—aw hell_ ), fighting beside him like he always had, both of them certain and sure what their roles were and what they were supposed to be doing. 

It was great, right up until it was too much, and he hurt Bucky again.

“I’m sorry,” Steve told him later that night, both of them sitting out on the balcony and looking anywhere but eachother. Bucky was balanced on the railing, slouching back against the wall of the tower, and Steve stood slumped next to him. “I should have said that first, instead of trying to joke about it.”

“Shit, Steve, don’t apologize now,” Bucky took a long drag on one of the cigarettes Steve hated. He waited for Steve to complain about it, but when Steve didn’t, he took another. “I’m not ready to say it’s okay yet.”

“You don’t have to.” Steve frowned. “You were right. I’m sorry.”

“Damn it, Steve,” Bucky glared at him. Steve almost apologized for apologizing, but snapped his mouth shut just in time. Bucky would not have taken that well. “Just wait for a little bit, would you? You know I’ll forgive you no matter how many times you do it; it’s why you keep doing it. I just want to stay mad at you for a little bit longer this time.” 

Steve shut up and stared at his shoes, and Bucky stared at the building adjacent. 

“I just don’t know what you’re punishing me for,” Bucky said softly.

“I’m—“ Steve took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll stop, I promise I’ll stop.”

“No you won’t.” Bucky said, resigned, and shrugged. “But it’s okay. I’m used to it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwww CRAP I totally forgot to thank my amazing beta for this chapter, Tilted Syllogism, who is amazing and wonderful in so many fantastic ways. SORRYYYYYY!!!

“What are you typing?”

Steve bit back a groan. Bucky had been putting Tony into a rotten mood for the entirety of the far-too-long flight-- needling him, threatening him, and laughing when he was threatened back, and in retaliation Tony had decided to turn on everyone else instead. He’d been fairly quiet for a while now, though, hooked in to a conversation or a video or whatever he did inside the helmet of his suit (Bucky had already accused him of watching porn. Twice). Now that Tony was going after _Natasha_ , though, it meant he’d decided to go big or go home.

This was not good news.

Natasha, being the classy, clever woman that she was, ignored him. Unfortunately Tony was not deterred so easily.

“You’re having a pretty long text convo there, and Katniss the wonder archer is flying the plane.” Tony flopped, fully suited, onto the floor next to Natasha with a loud _klang_ that jolted in Steve’s teeth. Bucky muttered something under his breath and Steve squeezed a bit closer, hoping it would prevent another fight. “So who is it? Secret boyfriend? Hot office romance?”

“Dear Stark’s James, your toddler has been fighting with Steve’s James _non-stop_ ,” she read aloud, feet kicked up on the back of Bucky’s seat so they knocked his head forward. He shoved them off irritably, and she pulled them out of reach only to drop them back again. “Please do something about it before we all accidentally on purpose kill them both at once.”

“You’re telling _Rhodey_ on me?” Tony gasped, appalled. Bucky grinned ear to ear, and Steve tried not to. “That’s just not fair. You fight dirty.”

“Dear Sam,” Natasha continued, and the Bucky’s smile slipped right off his face. “Steve and James are fighting again and James is taking it out on Stark. Please make them stop before I lock them in a closet somewhere until they talk about feelings.” She glanced up. “But not to me, I don’t do the mushy stuff. Call Sam if you want to cry on the phone, I don’t want to hear it.”

Steve straightened. “I’m taking care of it,” he assured her.

“No you’re not,” Bucky retorted, leaning back.

“No, seriously.” Natasha kicked the headrest on Bucky’s seat, and he grunted and swatted ineffectually at her. “I wasn’t joking, I don’t want to hear about it. Call Sam for this.” She held up her mobile and wiggled it. “You can even use my phone.”

“You know you’d be there for us if we came crying, Natalia.” Bucky craned around to avoid her feet and smirked at her. “You’d just look constipated the entire time.”

Natasha looked constipated already as she went back to texting.

“Five minutes!” Clint yelled from up front. He still had a cast on his leg and stitches lining his jaw, but he’d sworn to Steve that he didn’t need his feet or face to pilot unless he was _very_ drunk. Steve had opted not to follow that line of conversation and hoped he would never have reason to. “Man, fucking Hydra,” Clint sighed. “ _Again_. This is the fifth time this month.”

“Open the doors in three, Legolas!” Tony yelled at him, and Clint was so loudly silent in response Steve could hear all the way in the back. Steve stood and braced against the blast as the door finally opened, the familiar joy bubbling up even as he tried to tamp it down. He looked over his shoulder at Bucky, trying not to look too giddy.

Bucky was standing too, resigned, rolling his shoulders and checking that all his weapons were secure. He didn’t even look at the parachutes. Steve bit his lip, met Bucky’s eyes, and tilted his head towards the row of them, neatly lined up along the wall and seldom used. Bucky hesitated before he gave Steve a brief smile, then ducked over to grab two of them.

Bucky nudged him with his shoulder as came back up next to Steve. “Thanks,” he said in Steve’s ear, handing him a pack. Steve smiled, pushing him back. “You need help with that?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I’m capable of putting on a parachute without supervision, Buck. I tied my shoes this morning all by myself, too.”

“You’ve got no damn experience with it, punk, you keep messing it up before you drop. I should sew the damn thing on.” He reached for Steve, who was already stepping back and slipping his arms through the straps. “Just—“ Bucky stifled a smile, poorly, and Steve danced out of range again. “Jerk, come on, just—“

“How about I do _yours_ ,” Steve suggested, and Bucky yanked the buckles out of his hands.

“No way, you’ll mess them up.”

There was a bit of a slap/fight scuffle while they each tried to do up each other’s straps, alternately grabbing clips and batting them away, getting absolutely nothing done and snickering like a pair of kids.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Tony swore, took two strides over, and shoved Bucky out of the cargo door. Steve gaped at him.

“ _You aren’t funny, you jackass_ ,” Bucky shouted into the radio as he fell.

“I am _hilarious_ ,” Tony shouted back as Steve leapt, panicked, out of the jet after him.

***

“Is it just me, or is this ‘Pile on Captain America Day’ at Hydra?” Natasha shouted over the din, firing shot after shot into said pile. Steve heaved five of them off with his shield, only to have three more with tasers duck under it.

Dammit.

Tasers _hurt_.

Bucky had set off every alarm in the compound when he landed by crushing a section of the barbed-wire fence with his (luckily well-armored) backside. Steve was going to be hearing him furiously rip Tony a new one about _that_ the whole flight home, and he wasn’t looking forward to the arguments that would follow. Steve had landed, rolled, and come up just in time to see Bucky stagger to his feet, rubbing his ass and cursing, when the doors of the building had exploded open. Sirens blared, lights flashed, and Hydra agents had simply poured out like a river of ants.

Ants with tasers. Steve cursed as he got another shock in the gut.

Tasers, rifles, and a complicated mishmash of new and outdated weaponry that absolutely no one else used. There were enough that they should have all been overrun, but the agents weren’t very good at fighting; they seemed more like an uncoordinated mob of terrified interns and paper-pushers. It was like Hydra had just sent every agent in the state to one place, locked them all in an outdated weapon storehouse for an hour, threatened their families, then set them on Steve.

“It’s not just you,” Bucky replied, and Steve almost got skewered with a bayonet turning to look for him. A _bayonet_. Who even used those anymore? “I’m going to try something. Cap, head for the main doors.”

“Something?” Steve asked, then grunted as he took another taser to the side. “Look,” he hissed at the petrified footsoldier he’d grabbed by the collar, lifting him clear off the ground and snarling at him. The soldier cringed away as much as he could. “Those _don’t work on me_ , they just make me mad. _Stop it_.”

“Sorry?” The man squeaked, and Steve threw him at a few of his friends, then felt a little guilty when he remembered they all had bayonets. On the positive side, it gave him an opening to bolt for the doors.

“What is this something? Am I going to be concerned when I find out?” he shouted, running past Bucky, who’d gotten ahead of him to blast them open.

“Yes.” Bucky hefted a stolen grenade launcher onto his shoulder and went down on one knee, then Steve lost sight of him as he ducked around a corner. He could hear swish and explosion that followed, though. “They want something but the place is vacant; everyone just emptied out and made a beeline for you. I’m going to block the entrance and try to split them between us.”

“That sounds like an amazingly terrible idea,” Natasha decided, still shooting. “That is probably your worst idea ever. That is worse than some of Clint’s ideas, and beating those is difficult to do.”

“Hey!” Clint objected over the radio. “Unfair and untrue. That plan is clearly worse than any of mine.”

“You’re flying a spy plane on heavy painkillers,” Natasha countered.

“You’re flying the plane on _what_?” Steve blurted, horrified.

“They aren’t even engaging beyond trying to get past me,” Bucky scoffed over the three of them. “I think I can take a few idiots with bayonets. Christ, _bayonets_. Last time I saw a bayonet, I still had both arms and I thought cooking beef in the can it came in was fancy.”

“Well, science got you a new arm, but until it figures out how to hook up the toaster to your spine, we’re fresh out of new heads that match yours for brains.” Natasha did something that made four screams echo down the radio at once. “So make sure you keep the one you’ve got.”

“Understood.”

Steve prayed the plane would still be airborne when they were finished and found a good spot to stand his ground, meeting the stragglers who’d somehow made it past Bucky. “If you’re so worried,” Bucky complained to Natasha over the earpiece, “get Iron Man down here to do something about it. What do we have a weaponized flying suit for if he just hangs out in the sky for the whole fight?”

“I am beating up _planes_ here,” Tony complained. “There are a _lot_ of them, and Barton is on drugs and useless. Whatever tech they skipped on with the weapons on the ground, they’ve made up for up here. Fuck!” There was a faint explosion overhead. “I’m okay! I’m okay!”

“Too bad,” Bucky said sadly, then yelled and swore when Tony apparently blasted his earpiece with something loud.

“Cut it out and concentrate,” Natasha ordered, and everyone went sulkily back to work. There few grunts on someone’s comm, a soft huff from Natasha, and slowly the swarm of ants getting to Steve started to peter out.

Steve frowned. Bucky was good at what he did, but there had been a _lot_ outside and everything was winding down way too quickly. If he had to make a guess, actually, it seemed like just enough were making it through to keep Steve occupied while they focused on Bucky.

“You okay, pal?” he asked, hitting someone in the head with his shield. The agent bounced into a teammate, cracked heads, and they both went down.

Amateur hour, seriously.

“Busy!” Bucky snapped back, and there was some rapid machine gun fire from his direction, followed by a crackling explosion and a very, very worrying cheer.

“Bucky?” Steve tried again, panicked. No answer. “Buck!”

“He’s not moving,” Natasha told them over the radio, sounding breathless. She must have run out of ammo and was going hand to hand. “Cap, get back here. They were going for the Soldier; you were just standing too close, _get back quick_.”

“ _Shit_.” All of a sudden, though, there were too many in his way and he couldn’t get past. He waded in anyway, finesse gone, swinging his shield like a machete and not caring what effect it had. “Iron Man!” he shouted, voice hitching before he controlled it, “If you have any stops to pull, do it now!”

“On it!”

More explosions up ahead, more screams, but it was taking forever—the mob just kept coming no matter how many he mowed down, and he was starting to trip on the bodies. “Widow, do you still have eyes on the Soldier?”

“No!”

“ _Tony,_ ” he pleaded, desperate and panicked, “ _please_.” There was another blast ahead of him but there were too many, he was smashing them back three and four and five at a time and they just kept crowding in and--

“Got him! Cap, I’ve got him.” Steve sagged with relief, silently thanking any lucky stars that were listening that they’d brought Tony along. “He’s okay,” Tony reassured them. “Everyone’s making a break for it now, too-- whatever they wanted, they got it.”

“Did they take his arm?” Steve ignored the Hydra agents fleeing into every hallway they could find, only engaging when they didn’t get out of his way fast enough. What else did Bucky have that they could have wanted?

“Nah,” Tony said, sounding worried. “But…”

Steve went cold. “But?”

“He’s totally fine, I promise,” Tony promised him. “Don’t freak out. But…Steve, they stuck something in his head.”

Steve went cold. He dragged to a stop and had to lean against a wall, hand over his mouth, to keep from throwing up.

***

“Just.”

Tony looked up inquiringly.

Steve waved his hand. “Did you have to strap him to the bed that… extensively?”

Bucky was laid out on a heavily reinforced hospital bed, metal clamps lined up along his left arm, thick leather straps along his right. Both legs were manacled down, more straps winding their way over his torso and waist. Steve had already put dents in the rails on the side of the bed from gripping it too hard.

There was a small, alien-looking blue box—about the size of a book of matches—attached with bloody silver prongs to Bucky’s right temple. After four hours of bare-bones inflight testing and six more of detailed, extensive examination in the tower, neither Bruce nor Tony could tell Steve for certain what it was for. X-rays showed the prongs didn’t go in very far, just deep enough to break through the bone and latch on; they both assured him meant there was _probably_ no brain damage from connecting it. It was clear how they’d gotten close enough to do it, too; someone had succeeded with a lucky shot that doped Bucky with enough drugs to fell a herd of elephants. He probably hadn’t sustained long term damage from that either, thanks to his version of the serum, but now no one was sure if it was the drugs or the device that was keeping him under so long.

Steve wanted to strangle something. Instead, he took a deep breath and worked very hard to fake enough calm that he didn’t get kicked out of the room.

“Yes,” Tony told him sternly. “We do need to restrain him this much. I shouldn’t have to remind you that he has a history of brain trauma that leads to extremely violent attempts on your life.”

“Of course not,” Steve snapped, the rails creaking under his grip again. “You never let us forget.”

“No, _he_ never lets us forget,” Tony snapped right back.

Bruce raised a hand, eyes never leaving the results on whatever flat-screened tech thing he was studying. “Not the time, guys.”

They both went silent and glared instead.

Bruce was doing something complicated to the screen now, manipulating what looked like an exploded diagram of Bucky’s skull. “We don’t know who will wake up, Steve, and until we do, we can’t risk him waking up dangerous.”

“I always wake up dangerous,” Bucky breathed, right on cue, and Steve almost sprained something not touching him. Natasha had been very specific in her instructions against it, and she hit _really hard_.

“Bucky. Buck. How do you feel? Does anything hurt? Can I get you anything? Do anything?” The rails bent heavily under his weight as he strained in to get as close as he could. Tony wisely avoided making any sarcastic digs about it.

Bucky looked down at himself. “You could unstrap me. I don’t much like being tied to tables in labs.”

“No can do, Red.” Tony tapped the charts and frowned. “Not until we know you’re not going to flip out and kill-- _Dammit Steve--_ ”

“It’s him,” Steve swore, yanking off the clamps. Bucky lay motionless, watching them carefully. “He’s fine. He—“

And then Bucky was surging up, knocking Steve back and slamming headlong into Tony, sending them both hurtling through what was probably a lot of very delicate equipment and skidding across the table Banner had it all resting on. There was a shattering crash as they hit the floor, and a loud _crack_ when Bucky’s forehead met Tony’s nose.

“Bucky, no!” Steve exclaimed, belatedly leaping over the table as well.

Natasha slipped in during the chaos, Bruce sat in a corner and breathed very intentionally, and Steve managed to get a grip on Bucky, who admittedly wasn’t fighting that much now that he’d bounced Tony’s head off the floor a couple times.

“Oh, now you care?” Bucky shouted at him, struggling halfheartedly. “ _Now_ you care. I get drugged and suddenly Steve’s in danger! The evil assassin’s finally gonna snap because of a fucking _horse tranquilizer_.”

Tony looked as outraged as he could with a broken nose. “You shot him full of bullets last time Hydra had you,” he yelled back, indignant and slightly muffled.

“Hey,” Steve protested weakly, “that was only, like, a couple of times.”

“It took _seventy years_ of _torture and brainwashing_ to make me hurt him,” Bucky bellowed, “you, you’re gonna kill him all on your fucking own! _I’m_ the danger? _Me_?”

“Have you never heard of a _relapse_ , you--what?” Tony paused. “Me?”

“You shoved me out of a fucking plane because you thought it was _funny_ ,” Bucky lunged towards him again and Steve pulled him back. Tony scrambled to his feet and tried to stem the flow of blood from his nose without actually touching it. Bucky jerked in Steve’s grip and Tony startled backwards.

“What? You’re still mad about that?” Tony stared. “Come on princess, you’re fine, it was a joke, no big deal! It was _funny_.”

“It’s _never funny_ ,” Bucky screamed at him, trying and failing to shake Steve off. “None of us shitheads are going to die in our beds, but you are all _letting Steve try to get there faster_ and you think it’s hilarious! You’re worse than your piece of shit dad, worse than that goddamned mad scientist who thought he was doing Steve a _favor_ , worse than—”

Bucky suddenly froze, eyes wide, and everyone else did too.

He reached for his temple.

“Bucky,” Steve said softly. “Wait. Don’t panic. You have—“

Bucky hunched over like there was a spider in his hair, eyes wide and terrified. “What the hell did you put in my _head?_ ” His voice was high, hysterical. Steve choked.

“No! Don’t touch it!” Tony rushed forward.

“ _You put something in my head! What the hell did you put in my head??_ ” Bucky jerked his metal hand away from Steve, spun before Natasha or Tony could grab him, and yanked the little box free. He stared down at the chip in his hand, breath coming hard and fast, then back up at the crowd around him.

Then he collapsed on the floor.

***

“Okay,” Tony said later, his nose swollen to twice its normal size but no longer bleeding. Bucky was back in the bed, still unconscious, and tied down again. “This time, when he wakes up, _don’t unstrap him_.”

“He was still himself,” Steve said, sulking and trying not to. “He was understandably upset. He woke up from—”

“Yeah yeah, tragic backstory, uncomfortable in hospitals and sterile environments, surprise nonconsensual body mods, we know.” Tony waved his hand. “Whatever, just seriously, don’t unstrap him this time.”

“Right,” Steve agreed reluctantly, and sat in the chair next to the bed, hands settling into the grooves he’d made for them on the rails. Bruce gave him a sympathetic but uncompromising look and Steve hung his head a bit.

Bruce then glanced over at Tony, who stuck his chin out and shrugged. They had a short, silent argument where Bruce remained placid but firm and Tony used a lot of not-very-subtle, angry gestures, until Tony dropped his head back petulantly and turned around with an aggravated noise.

“Look, it might be a good idea to pull the curtain so he has a little privacy when he wakes up this time,” Tony offered, waving at the drape next to the bed. “He totally won’t freak out more if he can’t see the room. It’s definitely worth it for the safety he gets from a flimsy piece of cloth you can hear everything through and, if there’s enough light, see through a little too. It’s a great idea.”

“Bucky gets tense, yes,” Bruce explained, “but I’m assuming that seeing Tony immediately after he wakes up is going to make him a lot more aggressive than just not having all the sightlines he needs to be comfortable. And you’ll be here, which will make up for not being able to see the whole room.”

Steve frowned. “Tony could just leave the room. Then we solve both problems.” 

Tony grinned widely, throwing his arms open. “Great idea! Send the guy with the best chance of saving your mass-murdering playmate away from the thing he needs to study to do it.” He nodded thoughtfully, and Steve tried not to punch him. “I can see why you’re the Man With The Plan, Cap, we’re all in awe.”

Steve huffed and pulled the curtain closed.

He could still hear Bruce and Tony muttering to each other, typing, and tapping their styluses against every flat surface (since they were at the tower, every flat surface in the lab was some sort of computer display. Steve didn’t pretend to understand why). Still, even if he could hear through it and, yeah, see through it a little too, having the curtain to close them off from the rest of the room made his shoulders relax slightly and his breathing come a bit easier.

***

Constant anxiety, exhaustion, and worry will eventually take its toll on anyone, it just took longer with super soldiers. More than two days after the incident, there still wasn’t anything for Steve to do but wait, and the forced stillness finally won out. He passed out cold on top of Bucky’s sleeping form, and Tony was enough of an asshole to leave him there.

He was still sleeping two hours later when Bucky blinked awake and looked down at him in confusion.

“Hello,” Bucky said eventually. Steve snapped bolt upright in his chair and directly into the overhanging lamp; he jerked right back down again and clutched his head, pained.

Bucky snorted, and Steve grinned sheepishly.

“So I’m apparently strapped down to a bed,” Bucky mused, “but you don’t really seem to fit the evil scientist type.”

Steve blushed and leaned in, then snatched his hand back when it automatically moved to take Bucky’s, thinking he might not want to be touched at the moment. Bucky blinked, looked thoughtful, then gave him a slow smile. “I’m so sorry Buck, it’s just for a little bit, I swear. Just until we’re sure you’re okay and won’t accidentally hurt yourself or anyone else.”

“I don’t see anyone else here to hurt, ‘cept you. And you’re bigger than me.” Bucky was smiling at him like… well. He was smiling at him, anyway. Steve started to go red as Bucky gave him a solid once-over and his mouth pulled into a confident smirk. “C’mon, pal, I’m fine. I feel like crap, I just wanna scratch my nose.”

“Bruce made me swear on my mother’s grave,” Steve explained, anguished. “He made me swear on _your_ mother’s grave. Mrs. Barnes would haunt me for the rest of our _lives_.”

Bucky stuck his lip out. “Alright then, Mr. Boy Scout, when’s the doctor going to be in to unbuckle ‘em?” He leered. “And more importantly, what are you doing after?”

Steve managed a smile in return. “Anything you want to,” he said softly.

Bucky’s leer transformed into a grin that stretched full across his face. “Yeah?” he breathed, “Well.” He settled back in the bed as much as he was able. “So what’s your name, handsome? Have we met before this? I could swear you look familiar.”

It was like a bucket of cold water.

“Oh,” said Steve. No, not again, _please_ not again. “Oh no.”

“Or are you waiting to tell me until the doc says I’m okay?”

“Um.” Steve managed, trying not to panic. “Um. I’m not sure you are.”

“Huh.” Tony poked his head around the curtain, stylus in his mouth and Starkpad held at arms’ length. “I didn’t know Hydra was into this kind of thing. So, what, a sexy amnesia brain implant? Is he supposed to seduce you to the dark side, Capsicle? Good luck with that, Red, Steve’s as straight as apple pie.”

“Which is, as we all know, world-renowned for its heterosexuality,” Bruce murmured from the other side of the divider, wry.

Bucky and Steve cut them both identical glares.

“Upside,” Tony continued cheerfully, “judging from that look, Red doesn’t want to have sex with _me_ , so silver linings and all that.” Tony tapped a few things on the screen. “Anything else around the room you want to sleep with? The chair? Bruce? Natasha’s outside, we could bring her in to show off her—“

“If you finish that sentence,” Steve warned, “I will tell her that you did.”

Tony snapped his mouth shut.

“Fun as it sounds, I’m not planning on any of that.” Bucky pulled on his straps experimentally. “But I do have the strangest urge to beat your head against the floor. I wonder why.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Steve offered faintly, “you already did a few days ago.”

Bucky brightened. “That does make me feel better, actually.”

“Try it when I have as much metal on as you do,” Tony groused, poking Bucky in the arm with something. Bucky flinched and swore at him. “Alright, Sleeping Beauty, what’s the last thing you remember?”

“You stabbing me with that whatsit, jerkface,” Bucky complained. Steve couldn’t bring himself to laugh.

Tony sneered. “Hilarious! How about _before_ you woke up?”

Bucky opened his mouth.

Then he closed it.

“Three words,” Tony offered, “Starts with a…”

Bucky looked lost, and Steve hurt for him. Steve hurt for himself, too.

“Upside,” Tony said to Steve, spinning his stylus and pretending not to notice the disappointed/wretched/furious glower Steve was leveling at him, “Hydra’s consistent. Amnesia’s not even that bad! It only took, what, years to get over last time? I hear you only had to keep him from offing himself, like, twenty times. Thirty, tops. It’ll be old hat by now, your place is already baby-proofed.”

“Sometimes, Stark,” Steve growled, fists clenched, “sometimes you make it really difficult to like you.”

“Too bad you need me so badly,” Tony replied, snide, and turned back to Bucky. “So guess what! You get to have a whole lot more tests done. On a scale of death scowl to murder, how excited are you?”

Bucky glared. “Murder. Definitely.”

“Unsurprising,” Tony said, and stabbed him with another needle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY I'LL JUST USE THE EXACT SAME PROBLEM FROM CATWS IN MY OWN STORY.
> 
> NO ONE WILL NOTICE. AMNESIA BUCKY IS AWESOME.
> 
> I'M A GENIUS.
> 
> I swear, I totally swear though it will be different this time I sweeaaaaar


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not actually a new chapter, I'm just letting you know I am rewriting it and you can find the new fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11699007/chapters/26341233).

Again, not a new chapter. This fic is being rewritten and you can find it [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11699007/chapters/26341233).

**Author's Note:**

> Again, please give me feedback on anything you noticed I can make better!


End file.
